Antecedent
by PalominoMule
Summary: Centuries ago, an Avatar and her guardian wrestled with their obligations and oaths. Each must somehow accept their new life, but first they must find a way to survive it.


**Author's Notes:** I generally find the idea of writing fanfiction for a series that has not yet ended or been canceled foolish - your work can be rendered senseless by the next episode, after all. But something burrowed into my mind with Avatar: the Last Airbender, so I did the only thing I could - I decided to work with the world, and disregard the characters. So this is set some time in the past, long before Aang or any of the others in Avatar: the Last Airbender were born.

And so the characters are sorta' mine, but this is ultimately irrelevant since the world is not. Praise Nickelodeon and the creators of this show, yissyiss. Genre? I hate forcing things into genres. It will deal a great deal with the relationship between the two main characters - not necessarily a romantic one, mind you. I'm expecting this to be T, maybe into M depending upon the violence. And so help me, I couldn't get anyone to be my beta, so I'm hoping I did alright.

* * *

Hisao examined the short sword carefully as he sat, one knee drawn up against his chest and the other bent upon the ground. Turning the steel about, he decided it would need to be melted down after this battle. It had already seen several such conflicts, and the damage and deformation was adding up. He had always been careful to clean off blood as soon as possible, but it was still in sorry shape, that much he could see even in the fading light of evening. He return it to its scabbard, a plain leather covering that had seen better days itself. The earth was still warm beneath him, reluctant to release the sun's warmth even as the air cooled. 

He held the sheathed blade idly, forgetting to set it down as his attention turned to his comrades at the nearby fire. Their rations had already been issued and consumed, and now there was only the collective avoidance of sleep, to put a few more hours of consciousness between themselves and the next day. Stories would be told – folklore, tall tales, slightly exaggerated personal experiences. Some prayers would be made too, perhaps a little music if there were any instruments to be found. The distance between himself and his fellows was common. He had always presumed that there was some sort of camaraderie between the soldiers of a given unit, some sort of brotherhood in arms. Indeed, the relationship was rather fraternal; like in a family, there is every chance you might not like each other, you may get along only poorly, but your loyalty to each other is unquestionable.

The other young men his age considered him too serious, too dour and humorless to be worth associating with. The older men looked upon him as a boy playing at being a man – how grave, how resolute could someone of seventeen years possibly be? No matter what they thought of him, they also trusted him in combat, and he trusted them in turn. On these eves before battle and in the hours just preceding engagement glances were exchanged between the men, brief and silent communication and evaluation: "I trust you, so don't make me regret that." That was as warm and brotherly as it was going to get, he imagined. He roused himself from his thoughts, his eyes having fallen deep into the fire. His mind was growing weary and frayed, and so was his body. For a while now he'd found himself tired long before he should be, and in the past day or so he'd started feeling aches in muscles and joints where he had not suffered any blows, but far worse was the cough he was developing. He was glad that he didn't associate with the others much – if he was falling ill he didn't want to infect them as well.

He stood, the process of lifting himself aching more than it should have and he retired to the dingy tent he and a few others had been assigned to. In turning in so early he would further affirm his fellows' alienation, but he would rather rest now, in the hope that he might feel better in the morning. Lives would depend on him, after all. He returned to a seated position on his worn blanket and removed his boots, setting them beside him to be covered by a pack and a few scraps of armor. The boots weren't in the best of condition, but some had worse and he didn't want them stolen. He had no clothing to change into for sleeping purposes, but he was feeling cold, the sort that seeps deep into your body rather than the chill of cold against your skin, and thus he didn't mind the extra insulation. His uniform was likewise worn and unclean; he had long since accepted that everything he would find or use while in service would be filthy and tattered. He sank down onto his pallet, the ground refreshingly even beneath him.

He could only pray that he would feel better in the morning, and that his abilities would not be compromised when it mattered most. He had a responsibility to win and to guard the lives of the others. His family waited for him back home, and he had not yet grown so weary of war as to lose his fear of death. The sound of raucous discussion and unskilled abuse of some form of flute lulled him to sleep, singing a song of life, of vitality and the spark of survival deep inside them all.

* * *

A young man paced back and forth a few times in the stable, double-checking that each of the animals there had been fed and watered to his master's specifications, that they were clean and in good health. Most unsettling of all were the few great birds that he had said to keep saddled; Hisao's suspicions about this trip had been high enough before hearing that instruction. That the master had even insisted on bringing these horse-claws on the boat at all had been bad enough, made many times worse when he told them that they were going to trade with a horse-claw breeder in the south. When their dress changed to that of merchants, the lie was revealed all the more to him, and now he had a prize mount saddled and ready to leave at a moment's notice. These thoughts of danger led to thoughts of battle, and those thoughts had conjured up memories of earlier times. The heat wasn't helping his nerves either, especially in the stables – Master Zangaku had also ordered that the rear door of the stalls remain closed and inaccessible from the outside, and thus the sweltering conditions settled in. Coupled with this atmosphere, the hard work left him drenched in sweat. Even though his shirt was sleeveless, the temptation to pull it off was great – but as clean as one may keep the stables, they can still make a fine home for biting flies. 

He stepped outside, leaving the stuffy heat and lingering stench of droppings, entering the blinding sun – it was late spring, but the weather seemed ahead of schedule. He paced down the gentle slope toward the center of the small settlement, searching for Master Zangaku. The village had died, leaving it empty – a terrible illness had passed through a decade past, and those few who survived had left, leaving a ghost town behind. The men scurrying about only made it somewhat less disturbing – they were clearly not a true village, they were no residents. He pulled a small piece of cloth out of his pocket, sopping up the sweat around his face and neck as he caught sight of the older man in the middle of town, talking to a man and woman of who looked somewhat out of place, even though their garb was obviously of the area. A younger woman stood behind them, a pack slung over her shoulder, and she looked painfully nervous – their daughter, he suspected. He approached Master Zangaku but stood back, knowing better than to interrupt his conversation. His proximity was clearly noticed by all four, though, and Master Zangaku excused himself to turn and face Hisao briefly. It was then he saw the horse-claws being led away from the carts and other drawn vehicles, and he realized they must have only just now arrived. He opened his mouth as if to speak, eyes on those horse-claws as they were drawn off in the direction of the stables.

"Is there something you wanted to tell me, Hisao?" Master Zangaku was studying him, head cocked to one side, awaiting his explanation with a quiet amusement. Just another part of the man that irritated Hisao, but a tolerable aspect.

"I was going to tell you that I'm done tending the animals, but I can see that's changed." He turned his head to follow the path of the horse-claws for a moment more, counting six of them, before looking back to his master. "Do you want me to do anything special with these ones, or should I just go ahead?"

"Yes, just go ahead. Whatever you deem appropriate will be," the older man assured him, bobbing his head briefly. Hisao's eyes slipped back to the carts being unloaded, wondering why one was covered – surely not to protect from the sun, as it was covered on all sides. Anyone inside on a day like this would have suffered grievously from the heat. Surely something was being hidden then – or had been, anyhow.

"Umn, if it isn't any trouble, could I help?" asked the girl, still looking inordinately nervous. "I'd like to stretch my legs a bit, and I don't want to get in the way of you and Master Zangaku." She looked between her parents and the Master quickly. "I wouldn't wander." Hisao's reaction was subdued, restricted to him idly stuffing the cloth back in his pocket. He wouldn't mind her help so long as she didn't get in his way, so long as she pulled her weight. The parents exchanged a brief glance, conferring silently.

"So long as you don't leave the village and stay with him, it's fine," the mother offered, apparently giving half the consent needed. Hisao considered her hesitation for a moment – had she been taking this idea so seriously? Why? His thoughts were interrupted as Master Zangaku's expression became all too serious for his liking.

"You may go. Hisao, do watch her, and don't wander. When you are done at the stable, she is to come back to us directly, and I would like you to accompany her. Is this understood?" There was very little room for argument here, so the young man nodded.

"Don't worry. I won't let her out of my sight." He started stepping in the direction of the river, turning about as he did to step backwards as he continued – keeping that eye on her as promised. "Come on, the horse-claws will be thirsty on a day like this and there are still some pails down by the river." The girl nodded in response, and caught up to him quickly with a brief trot. He turned around and their pace took them down toward the river beside each other. Hisao kept his eyes down on the water, silent now, his attention on the world around him rather than the girl beside him.

"Thank you for letting me come along, I've been so bored and I haven't had anyone my age to talk to, you know?" she began. A voice inside his head groaned – he had hoped she would have let them simply walk in silence, but he should have known better. In his experience, the fair sex couldn't tolerate such a gap in a conversation. "It was...Hisao, right?" She stumbled over the name, which puzzled him. It wasn't that uncommon a name – and now that he considered it, her speech was a bit off. An accent of some sort colored her speech. So, she and her parents _were_ foreigners of some sort.

"Yeah. It's no problem, I don't mind so long as you pull your weight." He paused, considering the potential for further awkward conversation, and came to a conclusion. "Master Zangaku didn't mention your name, though." He felt that should solve a great deal of problems – if he had not asked, she surely would have badgered him until he did.

"My name is Azuna," she answered, offering an earnest smile that barely registered in Hisao's mind. "And don't worry, I'm not going to weasel out of any work. I wanted to get a closer look at those birds anyhow. You know, while I'm working."

"Yeah, good. This shouldn't take long anyway." The heat was bothering him again, and he once again considered if the shaved heads of the monks were of some advantage. It wasn't humid at all – just full of the searing sun's rays, but that was more than enough as far as he was concerned.

The faint path they traveled had brought them to the shed, and three pails rewarded their journey. He knelt down and handed the girl one, then stood up with the other two in hand. There was nothing to say, but he could tell she was working at it anyhow. The two knelt down a few feet apart at the river bank, filling their buckets. Their gazes both lingered a bit too long on the water – if it were not unseemly, a dip would have been nice in this heat. The water was still quite cool considering the strong sunlight, something the animals would surely appreciate.

"I was wondering, and I don't mean to pry, but you don't quite look like a monk." She stood, clutching the pail to her chest, wrapping her arms about it to better deal with the weight and bulk of it.

Hisao likewise rose up, testing the weight of the two pails before turning and starting back up the slope, which seemed larger and longer than on the way down. "I'm not. I'm just a stray they picked up."

"What happened exactly?" Hisao was yet again reminded why he so loathed curiosity. Azuna waited eagerly, eyes open and interested.

"They found me on a battlefield, wounded. They dragged me back to their monastery and along the way they kept me alive," he offered in summary after a few seconds of silence. There was no need to regale anyone – let alone a young woman – with those gory details. It wasn't as though they were special anyhow. "I ended up owing my life to them, and at that point I couldn't go back home, so I ended up sticking around. It's been about two years, and it's been okay for me so far."

"Oh, you were a soldier? Were you wounded very badly?" He could feel her eyes traveling his form, evaluating his gait a limp, some lingering evidence. It made a scar along his lower ribs itch – or maybe it was just the heat and the sweat trickling down his side. Back at the monastery he would have taken his shirt off long ago, but mixed company discouraged it.

"No, not really." He was doing his best to cut off the conversation. It wasn't that he was upset by the memories, but he didn't want to get into it either. He only wanted a bit of peace as he went about his chores. Luckily the conversation died there, leaving their remaining ascent mostly silent. Their arrival found the new animals already in their stalls, though clearly waiting for some attention, which the water would be the first aspect of.

"Start filling their basins. Only about half-way each, we don't want them to drink too much at once." She nodded, still looking at him so directly when responding to him, and began shuffling from stall to stall doling out portions of her pail's contents. Hisao set his two buckets down and began searching for the brushes he had used last. He stood still for a moment, collecting his thoughts and looking about, when some sense crawled up his neck and along the back of his skull, a prickling sensation that spoke of a poised blade or well-aimed arrow pointing at his back. He twisted around and found the birds alert, heads lifted high, cocked carefully. Hisao stood stiff and still for a moment, senses straining alongside the horse-claws', and he heard a faint cry of alarm somewhere down the hill – near the entrance to the village, he estimated.

The cry stirred further memories, promising the grim reality of a need to kill or be killed, promising the death of men he had grown to know and respect over the past few years. Azuna turned to find him stock still, and followed his line of sight to the door and beyond, and he could see her senses reaching outward. Someone screamed, and some shouts too distant to be deciphered but loud enough to recognize their urgency confirmed the fears they shared.

"Oh, no, please no," she whispered, easing toward the door. There was too much recognition in tone and her words for his taste – she had known some trouble was coming. Her movements suddenly shifted, and her sudden surge toward the door sent a spasm of alarm through his body, launching his hand forward to capture her arm and cut her movements short with a violent jerk.

"Are you stupid? If that's a battle, what do you think _you_ can do?" He lifted her arm, pulling her back further and off balance, so that she could not fight his grip effectively. Her eyes were wild and terrified, everything he'd expected. "Do as I say and you might just survive." The hollow and unemotional words sounded alien to him even as he said them, like he wasn't inside himself, but hovering in the doorway of his mind. Before she could respond he pulled her further into the stables, toward the table he'd left his belongings on earlier this morning. A sword and plain leather scabbard lay among them, and for this he let go of Azuna only reluctantly. With deft and all-too-practiced movements he attached it to his belt, fastening clasps and buckles, testing the leather's strength. Had they been somewhat less practiced, he may not have managed to grab her a second time as she moved to escape. She strained against his hold, but it was all too easy for him to keep it – she was too slight to have a chance. "Dammit, what is your problem!"

"Mother, father, Ipiktok, Master Zangaku...they're all still down there," Azuna cried in protest, fear and – from what he could tell – guilt choking her voice. The cracking of earth began, the cries of alarm, pain and aggression intensified, and so did his apprehension. He didn't know or particularly care who Ipiktok was at the moment, but her whining added to the already considerable hostility he suddenly found himself regarding her with. "I have to find them, this is all my fault!" Hisao's nerves snarled at her whimpering and excuses, willing her to shut her mouth. He had no doubt this was her doing, that the reason people were dying this day was because she was here. Judgment would have to wait until later, though.

A shifting shadow outside the door and a hushed noise draw his attention back to the open doors before he could admonish her any further. He turned slowly, his blade slipping from its sheath with a light rasp along its throat, a sound of deathly promise. The sounds of hurried steps outside spoke to him of their creator, and he pushed forward to intercept. The face that appears as he lifted his blade was old and withered, wise and more worried than he has ever seen it. His muscles tightened, stilling the movement to let him lower his blade and step back, allowing his Master inside while his eyes briefly searched the scene below. Earth shuddered, rumbled, and cracked, blades clashed, screams resounded, and he could hear torrents of water coursing where they were never meant to.

Zangaku hobbled in, bruised and somewhat bloodied, but there was great relief in his eyes when he saw the girl attached to Hisao's off hand. He did not waste time in expressing that , rushing instead to the stall of Boya, his best horse-claw, a beast whose clear excitement and anxiety were caged with impressive self-control. The elder grasped the bird's reins and opened the stall's door to lead it out into the corridor. "Quickly, boy. His saddle is there for you." Hisao had never seen his eyes so intense, so there was no hesitation as he released Azuna and sheathed his blade, steadied his hand upon the bird, set his foot in one stirrup and set himself atop Boya. He reached for the reins, but Zangaku held fast as he took the girl's hand in his own while she was looking back to the door, distracted too much to notice the movement. She turned back with a start and shook her head, pulling at her hand in protest.

"But, my parents...! What's happening, are they okay?" She seemed ready to dig her heels in, and Hisao found himself regretting that he had let her go even long enough to mount. How could she be this foolish? The sounds of the battle seemed closer and closer every moment, and all of their lives were in danger because of her pointless protests. "I can't leave them!"

"Ankali, I need you to listen to me. This situation is serious, your parents and my monks are out there trying to give you time. So much more than they, than anyone in this village depends on you escaping." He pulled the girl forward, her resistance little more than a sign of struggle, nothing earnest. She was unwilling, that much was clear, but she did not have it in her to deny his request entirely. "Now, please, allow me to help you up." She finally relented, moving toward the ratite, and the monk steadied her as she took her seat behind Hisao.

"Wait, Master Zangaku, what is this? What would you have of me?" For that matter, why had he called her Ankali? He wanted to ask so much, but he knew there was no time. He needed orders soon, so that he could act even sooner.

"Flee, take her to safety, to our sanctuary. You must protect her, Hisao," he explains, that same troubled gait carrying him to the table to pick up his charge's pack.

"What? By myself? Who is she?" Hisao couldn't fathom the circumstances he was subject to as he reached his hand out to accept the pack, but his teacher handed it instead to the girl sitting behind him, weak and unsettled as she was, her other hand grasping at the back of his shirt. She didn't even have the sense to really hold on, her sense of propriety holding her back even as people screamed and died outside.

"Swear it, Hisao. You must swear that you shall guard her life," the man insisted, now moving toward the back doors to lift the plank blocking their movements, and then spread them wide. He looked back up to meet a dour gaze from the young man who usually looked upon him with such reverence and respect.

"It's an awful thing you ask of me, Master Zangaku. I couldn't take a more serious oath than that," he growled, hands falling on the reins and tightening there, painfully so, but still the old man would not release them.

"The situation is desperate – I would not entrust her to you or burden you so without good reason. So much depends on her, and so on you – but promise me." There was no time to debate, to wait in terrible silence. Hisao's brow furrowed and he nodded as gravely as he could manage, trying to convey his reluctance.

"I swear I shall guard her and deliver her safely." He had never felt so heavy as he did just then, binding himself in mind, body, and soul with a mere sentence, tying himself to something so weak and painfully vulnerable. "And what of you?"

"I shall guard your escape, buy you time. Now go. Do not look back, to not tarry, do not hesitate, and do not think to save or inquire of anyone in this village. With your promise, you have forgotten us all. Go now, for she is your whole world until you have fulfilled your vow." He released the reins then and slapped at the bird's rump, sending it flying out the door and into the veil of trees ahead, on a narrow and well-worn path leading into the woods. Hisao's heart begged him to look back, to catch one last look at the man who had been the center of his world for the past two years, but a voice of terrible authority overpowered it, crushing it violently.

"He has left your life. Go. Do not insult his memory, and do not fail him." He set his teeth against each other as trees swept past them, Boya's swift gait carrying them with speed and strength lost on him for the moment. His mind retreated then to a being clinging to his back, its hand twisted into the cloth there, desperate to hold on but too meek to even dare that much. She would fall off if the terrain changed, and with that he was forced to regard his burden directly for the first time since he had taken it upon himself. He reached back with his off hand, the awkward movement allowing him to grasp the wrist pressing against his back and pull it forward, around his chest. The hand quickly sought purchase there tentatively, a thing he felt as his hand darted back to join its brother at the reins. He dug his heels into Boya's sides and it recalled its true speed with a jarring start. Her arm tightened around him, hand closing tightly on his shirt out of fear and a desire to remain upon the bird. Her touch and proximity sent shuddering waves of disgust and fury through him, but that voice of cold, unyielding stone was silent.


End file.
